


Harsh Beginnings

by astra_romaine



Series: Sent by Gods (working title) [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Food Issues, Gen, Slavery, Tevinter Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astra_romaine/pseuds/astra_romaine
Summary: The Herald of Andraste is not what anyone expected. For one, she barely speaks the Trade Tongue, and for another, she acts weird. When the advisors find out she's from Tevinter, they assume the worst. And when Varric and Solas try to get to know her, she doesn't make it easy.There's some weird food-stuff that I don't really know how to tag, so if you have any eating/throwing up triggers, be warned.
Series: Sent by Gods (working title) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813630
Kudos: 11





	Harsh Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I can't stop revising this, so I'm just going to post it. The general story/scene is there, and there shouldn't be any glaring typos.

Irian looked evil.

That was what Josephine thought. If there was anyone that would cause an explosion that killed so many people and tore a hole in the sky, it would be that girl standing there. It wasn’t just that her hair was pitch black and weighed down by grease, or that the makeup smeared around her face made her look like she had two black eyes, no, there was something else about her…

“ _Andaran atish’an_ ”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, did I say it wrong? It was meant to be Dalish.”

“Dalish? No, I am Tevinter.”

Glances shot around the room, calculations were redone, brows were furrowed, and Josephine stepped back. Was that what was so unnerving? That evil little thing had come all the way from Tevinter just to kill the Divine?

Was the Imperium interested in the mage-templar war? Something worse, maybe? No, Irian had tried to close the Breach. And failed. And Cassandra still didn’t trust her- she had mentioned it just before they called Irian in.

“How did you get down here?” Leliana asked.

“I do not know,” The elf said, then she looked at Cassandra, “You are Nevarran?”

“Yes, but we are not in Nevarra.”

“Antiva?” Irian glanced at Josephine, who took another step backwards.

“We are in Haven,” Cullen clarified, “In Fereldan.”

She nodded, but she still looked confused- like the words didn’t mean anything to her.

Leliana shuffled through some papers to find a map of southern Thedas. “Where in Tevinter are you from?”

“Qarinus.” Irian leaned over the map and squinted at the place names. “Where are we?”

Leliana pointed next to Lake Calenhad.

“Fereldan?” Irian exclaimed, as if Cullen hadn’t just told her where they were, “But that’s south of the-” she pointed to the map “-this.”

“The Waking Sea?”

“ _Fasta vas_ ,” she whispered, “That’s a long way from home.”

* * *

Solas and Varric were waiting outside the Chantry while Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine were talking with Irian. It had been the dwarf’s idea to take their supper with Irian, and normally Solas preferred solitude, but he had agreed. There was something familiar about her, he just needed to figure out what.

When the door at the back of the hall opened, the people exiting had tense bodies and stern expressions. Cassandra was marching Irian out of the Chantry while the other three slipped into Josephine’s makeshift office.

“Our _friend_ here has told us where she is from,” Cassandra stated and released her grip on the back of Irian’s neck, “Tevinter.”

Solas had assumed she was another apostate, like himself. If she were an elf from Tevinter, that would mean she had been a-

“Shit,” Varric breathed.

-but she was a mage too, maybe she had been a…? No, Solas had seen the marks on her body while she slept. He knew what they were, now.

“Hmm,” Cassandra grunted in annoyance and pushed the girl slightly out of the Chantry.

“Listen, kid,” Varric started, “It’s been a rough couple of days-” _maybe more than that, if you’re Tevinter_ “-and we were thinking you would maybe want some dinner?”

Irian stared at Varric. “I would like that,” she said hesitantly, as if she didn’t believe them. Or maybe Solas was imagining that- she could have been nervous because Cassandra was there.

“I trust you do not want to join us, Seeker Pentaghast?” Solas stated, rather than asked. Irian did look a little relieved when Cassandra confirmed that, no, she did not want to be anywhere near them.

Varric let Irian pick a table in the tavern and she insisted on the corner. Solas noticed it had a very good view of the rest of the building- the interior and a bit of visibility outside, to see who might be passing by or about to come inside.

There wasn’t much for conversation. Irian kept glancing between Varric and Solas and her plate. The dwarf was laughing, because _how much food could such a tiny elf really eat?_ But Solas was disgusted. He recognised the behaviours she exhibited.

The way she hunched over her food and tucked it into the folds in her clothes, like someone would take it away unless she hid it, the fearful glances and tense assessments of their threat, the amount of food she shoveled in her mouth-

She was food guarding. Whatever she had been before, she had been starved. Solas cringed at Varric’s ignorance, but eventually even the dwarf figured out something was wrong with her.

“Irian, you better slow down,” Varric warned, “You’re going to throw up.”

She did look nauseous. Her breathing grew heavier and more frantic at Varric’s comment. She looked like she wanted to flee or to slip away from them and out the back of the tavern, but instead she slid over and threw up.

“Who are you people?” she finally cried from the floor, “What have you done to me?” It was the first time that evening she had said anything.

Varric leaned over, “Kid, you just ate too much too fast.”

“Was it poisoned? Are you trying to kill me?”

“No,” he said, “No one wants to poison you.”

Solas reached out a hand but didn’t really want to touch her. She was sweaty and breathing hard and was covered in her own sick. He pitied her.

“Come,” Solas said to her instead, “I will show you to the baths.”

Irian wrapped her arms around herself as she followed Solas, and she sounded like she was trying not to cry. He left her in front of a wooden tub of water and went to find Cassandra or Cullen or… someone other than him.

He found Josephine first.

“Lady Montilyet?”

“Is something wrong?”

He told her about Irian, and what he thought it meant, and that he left her in the bath and that she was upset and that she needed someone to take her some clothes. Please. Josephine sighed, and looked wary, but agreed someone should help her.

* * *

When Josephine walked Irian back to her assigned quarters, the girl had a completely different demeanour. For one, she didn’t look so evil anymore. All the grease, ash, and leftover makeup had been washed from her face and she was unrecognisable. Her hair was not black, but brown, and her eyes weren’t nearly as intimidating without all the shadows around them, though they did look tired.

Actually, she looked like any other elf that might be running around Haven. Light brown hair, light brown eyes, light brown skin. The only reason Josephine knew she had the right elf, was the mark on her hand. Irian might even have been feeling better, until she saw what awaited her in that little shack.

Cassandra, Cullen, and Leliana were already inside. They were standing in a circle, with their arms crossed, and whispering to each other. Irian swallowed nervously but stood in the corner quietly and folded her hands in front of her.

“What exactly did you do with all the bedding?” Cullen accused.

“Every time I come in here, she asks for another blanket,” Cassandra said, “Where are they going?”

Irian looked at each of their faces before pointing to the bed. No, Josephine noticed, she pointed just below the bed. Cassandra knelt down hesitantly, not breaking eye contact with Irian until she ducked her head to look beneath the bed. Josephine could hear her grunt as she started to pull things out from under it.

Out came all the bedding, some books, jars, and papers, the extra blankets, and a ratty coat. Irian didn’t say anything, but she looked troubled: there was tension in her forehead, and she kept biting her lip.

“Well?” Cullen said as he gestured to the contraband, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Irian was silent. Cassandra started to step over the pile, towards Josephine, but Irian flinched out of the way. Flinched would be an understatement, really. The poor girl was practically cowering on the floor and she kept blinking her eyes and shaking like someone was going to punch her.

Cassandra froze, mid-step, before pulling back and deciding not to move.

Leliana tried a softer approach. “Irian, are you worried we will take these things away?”

She nodded. That was something.

“We are going to take it!” Cullen exclaimed, “We can’t give a thief free-reign over Haven!”

“Commander!” Josephine hissed.

“Threnn has been on my back all week about things going missing! What am I supposed to tell her?”

“That they are fine where they are.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?” Cassandra interrupted.

Irian shuffled her feet awkwardly. “Never matters what I want-” she muttered something else in Tevene. “I was just- I am not a thief. I swear.”

Leliana eyed the things on the floor. “Were you cold?”

Irian nodded.

“Are you still cold?”

She nodded again.

“Is there something that would help?”

Irian pointed at Leliana’s feet. “Can I wear those?”

“You want boots?” Cassandra said in surprise.

Of course, she wanted boots, it was freezing outside! Josephine felt terrible. All the scar tissue around Irian’s ankles and wrists had turned purple from the cold, and the wet hair didn’t help.

She had been barefoot the whole time she followed Cassandra through the valley and now she was expected to walk all around a camp filled with sharp bits of metal. Dalish elves always had bare feet though, Josephine had assumed it was just the same with all elves.

“Do you want to go see Harritt for a pair?” Leliana asked.

“Do I have to go alone?” Irian whispered and pointed to the coat, “He knows.”

“I will go with you,” Josephine offered, “First thing tomorrow.”

Irian looked back at the floor. She didn’t seem ashamed, it just seemed like that was what was expected of her. They stood in silence.

Leliana cleared her throat. “Do you want me to make the bed again for you?”

Irian shook her head.

Josephine glanced awkwardly at the others. So, Irian was just going to stay under the bed? And that was okay? No one really had a good reason to protest that decision, so they shuffled out of the room and left Irian to remake her nest. Under the bed.

“How long are we going to let her continue these behaviours?” Cullen asked once they were in the cold, “She is already a mage moving completely unchecked throughout camp, and we now know she’s a _Tevinter_ mage.”

“Is she really a threat, Commander?” Leliana sighed.

“Any mage is a potential threat.”

“She does not even know how to eat,” Cassandra commented, “You heard what Varric said.”

“Solas believes she was starved,” Josephine added.

“And did you see what she had hidden?” Leliana turned around to face them. “They were all comfort items. She is scared.”

“Scared?” Cullen scoffed, “I am not without sympathy but the whole world is scared right now.”

“We do not know how much she understands, Commander, she doesn’t speak the Trade tongue very well and-”

“Does she understand that stealing is wrong?”

“Why did this all happen now?” Josephine asked, “She has been here almost a week, yet it was tonight that she… had an incident in the tavern?”

Cassandra frowned. “You think she hasn’t eaten this whole time?”

“That may be the case,” Leliana mused, “But I wonder why, considering she had no trouble stealing clothes or jars.”

They had reached the Chantry again and a number of priestesses were looking at them. Josephine turned the conversation over in her head and thought about the collection Irian had made under her bed.

“What _were_ those little jars for? Did you see them? They glowed.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said, “They looked like fire jars. You mix oils with certain herbs and they will produce heat and light. They are common in Nevarra.”

“Maybe she was an alchemist in Tevinter?” Leliana suggested.

“Maybe we should worry about her stealing expensive ingredients,” Cullen muttered, “Or send her to the capital.”

“I, for one, am not yet ready to turn her over to Val Royeaux.” Cassandra placed her hands on her sword and stood with a straight back. “Whoever she is, the Maker chose her. We can at least try to gain her trust before sending her to be hanged.”

Cullen looked sheepish. Cassandra was right. Irian had the mark, and whatever else she came with, but right now she was their only hope. A Tevinter slave was the only one to have survived the Conclave, and now she was the only one who could tell them what happened there. Andraste preserve them all.


End file.
